The Man Who Always Was
by Zalphon
Summary: This is the tale of a man who survives Earth's baptism in atomic flames and is forced to survive in a world where life has become a scarcity. Where everyday is a struggle for food, for warmth, and perhaps most importantly, for hope.
1. Prologue

**The Man Who Always Was**

**Prologue**

"_Some days, I wish I was one of the ones who died."_

It was when the world ended that we all died. At least in some way, I mean. Those of us who were fortunate (misfortunate?) enough to survive lost everything we had ever known. I will never see my mother again or play another game of catch with my dad. I'll never tell my brother that he's a dork again. That life is gone.

In its place is a different one. I am one of the few survivors of a time that I have come to know as _the Change_. It was at that time that the world was baptized in nuclear flames and most of the population was purged. Me? I was one of the few people who was safe and I should've been one of the people who died. I mean, if I had done what I was supposed to and actually gone to school instead of ditching to go spelunking, I wouldn't be alive to pen these words right now. Maybe I have a guardian angel looking out for me or maybe I'm just unnaturally unlucky—I'm not really sure.

When I emerged from the caves, I thought I was dreaming. The blanket of grey in the sky and the fact that every tree within sight was a charred skeleton made me believe I was having a nightmare. But there was one thing that really stood out amongst it all. There was that scent in the air. It's almost indescribable with how—strange it was. It was like burnt hair and charred meat.

Maybe I was a fool. Actually, let's scratch that—I was a fool. There's no denying it at this point. Something possessed me to crawl out of those Caverns and it was as I walked that I saw it all. This wasn't the place I left. The place I left was a lush park. Yeah, that's not what I came back to. I came back to a field of black with a few ebon statues arising from the field.

You ever see the kid who's completely in his own little world? Usually he's a druggy strung out on some acid or he's a hardcore coke addict who's tweeking. Yeah, that was me right there. I was in awe, not even paying attention to where I was walking (which ultimately ended up with me running into one of these things that we used to call trees). I managed to survive the end of the world—still got my ass kicked by a tree. Way to go, me—you're a real winner.

My route home brought me through the 6th Street. 6th was like downtown in our cozy little town. You wanted to go shopping at our local stores, you went here. You wanted a slurpee, you went here. You wanted a—you get the picture. It was kind of our hangout spot for the crowd who didn't bar-hop yet. What I saw on 6th Street was as disturbing as what I saw before. A sea of derelict cars with owners face-first into the steering wheels was what was down 6th Street. Lots of buildings looked ransacked too. Windows broken, shelves swiped clean, it looked like the entire town had been hit by riots.

Anyone in their right mind would've pieced it together by now. Unfortunately, I wasn't in my right mind. I was in a loop trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Why were there so many people dead in their cars? Why was almost everywhere picked clean of anything on the shelves? What the hell had happened?

The closer I got to home, the more and more the town looked like it had been ripped apart by some supernatural force of destruction. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that one god from the Elder Scrolls was real. Couldn't remember his name for sure, but I knew it was something Dagon. And it looked like he had just swept through and crushed everything. So many houses were ripped apart and cars everywhere.

It was when I got home that something really bothered me. The door was open. Dad never left the door open. He would always snap, "It's a waste of electricity!" It was at that moment that it clicked in my head—something was wrong. With all the energy I could muster, I sprinted into the house and saw it. The floor was covered with blotches of a sick solution of regurgitated bacon and eggs and dark brown hair. Then in some of them was blood. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was wrong? That was the phrase that went through my mind as I slowly stepped through, trying to avoid getting any of that stuff on my sneakers.

I looked to my right to see the stairs covered in just vomit. When I looked to the stairs, I heard it in the kitchen. That growling of ecstasy as a dog gnaws on bones. But we didn't have a dog. It was when I slowly pushed open the door to the kitchen that I saw it all. There were no words as I saw my mother slouched down against the cabinet. Her face and shirt were covered with dried puke and her eyes had rolled to the back of her head. And then I was filled with a look of horror as I saw it. My neighbor's German Shepherd chewing away at her arm.

The canine rose from its meal and locked eyes with me. I heard him growl; it was like nothing I had ever heard before. He was always the most playful dog in the neighborhood. It was in that moment that he darted for me. Honestly? I don't know what came over me, but I just bolted up the stairs into my dad's bedroom and locked the door. I could hear Cerberus' barks as he scratched against the door. Fuck me.

That was when it all hit me. All at once. This wasn't a dream—this was real. My mother was a fucking chewtoy for some motherfucking dog. I lost it at that realization. There was nothing I could do to keep the tears back as they rolled down my grimy cheeks. A dog was about to rip me apart if he got through this door, my mother was dead, and all I could think about was her waffles. I loved those waffles and how every bite was like one into a cloud. Some people hardened badasses like the Punisher when faced with tragedy, I chose to think about my mom's waffles. I guess that was just my way of coping with it.

There was a reality check though when I felt his breath against my neck. That was when I jumped up from sitting against the door and looked around the room. Dad never kept guns in the house and all the knives were in the kitchen. I looked at the Cerberus who continued peeling away layers of the door and looked for anything. A knife would've been preferable, but I could've worked with a pen or pencil. Just something to stab this damned hellhound with!

That's when I saw it. The plastic toothpick from my Swiss Army Knife was resting on the nightstand. Dad always stole those from my Swiss Army Knives (after he snagged the knife itself), but that wasn't important. Even if it was kind of annoying. But where the hell was the Swiss Army Knife?

I ripped bedding apart, slid things off the nightstand, I tossed DVDs everywhere. Where the Hell was it? Bam! That was the sound of the dog literally throwing himself against the door. And I watched the wood begin to splinter. There was one thing I couldn't stop myself from shouting, "God damn it, Dad! Why are you always such a tightass!"

It was as I watched the wood splinter more and more each time that I placed the toothpick facing up (with two DVDs to keep it like that). Maybe that would've slowed him down if I was lucky. At least that's what I thought would happen.

Slam! The dog came crashing through and he pounced onto me. I was knocked back against the nightstand and it went for the throat. Some supernatural strength overcame me (okay, not really supernatural) and I threw—yes, threw—this dog across the room. Onto the bed it jumped and it pounced again right into my chest—that's when I fell forward with him against my chest. As we hit the ground, I heard the sound of metal bouncing off of the hardwood floors and I saw it—my knife. Fuck yes, God was with me!

With my forearm, I held Cerberus pinned to the ground and with my other arm, I pulled the Swiss Army Knife to my teeth and pulled out a blade. Right as I was about to bring it down to slit his throat, he scratched at my own and I could feel the hot blood roll down my neck. The Dog barked and tried to get away as I reached for my throat and he did. However Cerberus wanted the kill and turned around for one final strike. With his jaw ready to snap down on anything he could get a hold of, I shoved my hand into his mouth and jerked the knife up.

It was when the dog fell over that the knife simply fell out of my hand. What the hell just happened? That was a question that was running through my mind. And then there was a sweet satisfaction—I was alive. I survived! That high really did wear off fast when I came to face the bitter reality of it. I kind of did him a favor by saving him from the Changed World.

I stood there watching the dog's blood pool. Slowly it grew larger and larger until it surrounded my sneakers. I slowly squatted down, pulled my knife out, and looked at the toothpick. It was soaking in the crimson pool. "Sorry Dad," I kind of blurted when I looked at it. "Didn't mean to ruin your favorite toothpick." But there was no response. No sigh of annoyance. No stern look. No anything. And honestly, that bothered me a lot.

The only thing I could think of as I walked down the stairs was if this was what life would be like from now on. Well would it be like that? I wasn't really sure at the time, but now I can say one thing with confidence. Yeah. It is always like that. Maybe not so adrenaline-pumping, but it really is a fight for survival every day. A fight to get somewhere warm. A fight to find something to eat. A fight to find the motivation to trek through this day when you know tomorrow will be just as bad, maybe even worse. Yeah—life really would be like that.


	2. Chapter One - Rose Petals

**Chapter One: Rose Petals**

"_What remains of a rose when every petal is plucked?"_

There's a certain feeling that fills your heart after a kill that could've resulted in your death. It's a mix of emptiness and shakiness. Your mind is on overdrive, I guess. And all you feel in the pit of your stomach is that it could've been you. I know I already went over this, but it's one of those things that really—stick.

You really never understand the severity of things like that until you live it. It's like you imagine it to be something like something out of Fallout, you know? Okay maybe not entirely like that, but you get the gist. You do what you have to do and you move on. Yeah that's not how it works to be honest. It's a lot more—emotional.

Every step down those stairs was like falling through the heavens. I had walked up and down these stairs literally thousands, even tens of thousands of times. But this was different. It's just—hard to deal with. Knowing that you just killed your neighbor's dog after it had made a chewtoy of your mother. Just—I wasn't handling it well.

I looked one last time into the kitchen. Yeah, it wasn't like I remembered it. Drawers were everywhere with silverware and broken fallen from the cabinets. But there she was slumped against one of the cabinets. Dad would've lost it if the kitchen ever looked like this.

Not a word can describe the flood of thoughts that filled my mind as I looked upon her. My mother looked like Death himself had swept over her. Her dark hair was patchy—at best. The warm face that I had grown accustomed to seeing after school had grown to look almost—skeletal and pale. "M-mom?" I whispered as I cradled her head in my arms.

I was hoping that there would be some answer. Some form of response. But there was no response. My head bent down to her forehead and I couldn't help but shake a little. "Come on, Mom. Wake up! It's gonna be okay!" But she didn't say anything. That's when my eyes grew wet with tears.

"Come on, Mom. Wake the fuck up!" I screamed. "Wake up, Mom!" I felt the first tear roll down my cheeks. It was like a trail of fire carving its way across my face until it dripped onto her face.

My eyes looked down at her face and I kissed her forehead. "P-please, Mom," I struggled to utter at a whisper's volume. "Please—just wake up." She didn't move. She didn't speak. Her lifeless corpse just rest in my arms and a trail of tears slid down my face and splashed onto hers.

I don't know how long I sat there with her in my arms as I just cried. I couldn't control it. All the things I had ever said to her in anger came crashing at me like a hammer. Every time I yelled at her. Every time we fought. And at the head of this hammer was the fact that I would never get to tell her how sorry I was for it all. How fucking sorry I was. How I should've been a better son. How I shouldn't have been such an ungrateful brat!

I used the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe the tears away and just looked down at her. It was with that same sleeve that I did what I could to wipe the vomit away. I couldn't do a lot, but I just—I just wanted to try to give her a look of being peaceful. But I failed her. Yet again.

It was with tears in my eyes that I forced a smile as I looked down at her. "M-mom," I whimpered. "I know that you're in a better place. And I kn-know that you're up there, in Heaven, looking down at me. And if you can hear this—I'm so sorry. For everything I ever did wrong. I'm so fucking sorry, Mom." And that's when the tears fell again. I just wanted to hear her voice one more time. That's all I wanted. Was that so much to fucking ask?

My eyes looked down at her as I got to my feet. Her lifeless corpse was just there—not moving. It was in that moment that I uttered a whisper, "I love you, Mom, but—I have to go." I just prayed that she would understand. I just—I couldn't stay here.

I slowly walked out of the kitchen, and then the living room and looked back one last time at the home I had come to know. But I would never regard this place as home again. It simply—it just wasn't anymore. It took every ounce of willpower I had to walk out of the front door one last time. The door closed behind me and I knew that would be the last time I'd ever hear it close. Goodbye, 122 Shadowhill Drive, may your next residents be as happy as we were.

My heart was low as I walked away from the home I had come to know. But it had to happen. It was as I trekked away that I glanced to see the SUV still in the driveway. How had I not noticed it before? I darted for it. And then I saw him in it—head face down into the steering wheel and he looked just like Mom. In the backseat was my brother and he looked just like dad.

A part of me felt like screaming. A part of me felt like crying. A part of me felt like just slamming my head into the asphalt until I didn't feel anything anymore. But in that moment, I just fell to my knees and looked up at the unending sea of grey. One question ran through my mind: Why? Why was this happening? Why them? Why wasn't it me? Why?!

I don't know how long I sat there on my knees. It could've been five minutes or five hours, but I just knew that I had given up. In a day—I had lost everything. You never really grasp how important your family is until they're gone. That morning, I was worried about not making it to Tom's party. And you know what? I didn't care anymore—I had lost everything that ever mattered. Everyone who ever mattered—I mean truly mattered—was dead. And I wanted to scream, because I never realized it until it was too late.

When a man loses everything he cares about, he breaks. I guess I did in that moment, because I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just wanted to quit. I didn't want to do it anymore. I was done. But life's never that easy—at least not for me. I couldn't give up, because that just—they would've wanted me to go on, I guess.

It was with little to say that I just continued walking down the middle of the road. Like I said before, we all died. Just not all of us were lucky enough to truly die. Those who weren't that lucky—they were just like me. We were just survivors—trying to etch out a living in a world that didn't want them. We, the last of humanity, were the truly damned.


End file.
